


Never Pay The Reaper

by canaa



Series: Amore e Lacrime [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canaa/pseuds/canaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a battle ends badly, Zevran and his lover discuss unnecessary risktaking and celebrate life.  Originally written for the DAO kmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Pay The Reaper

The battle had gone terribly wrong. Though too drained of mana to cast any spells, Gale couldn't simply stand and watch as an ogre grabbed for Zevran; the Warden shouldered his lover roughly out of the way. Not caring which little elf it had before it, the Darkspawn snatched him up instead, lifting him easily in one massive hand, his staff trapped uselessly at his side. He was shaken like a child's rattle, and then the monster _squeezed_. Gale felt bones snap, felt searing agony in his chest that his healer's analytical reaction told him was likely more from ribs bending inwards and stabbing his lungs than the sharp claws that gouged him deeply. _Not good_ , he thought through the sudden haze, and braced himself the best he could, staring death in the face.

But instead of another, final squeeze, the ogre dropped him, and through dim eyes the Warden watched Zevran pull his swords from the monster as it bellowed in pain. As darkness sucked him down, he watched the ogre swat Zevran aside easily, the elf landing in a crumpled heap at least ten feet away. Gale's final thought as he drowned under the waves of agony, disappearing into sweet unconciousness, was a desperate hope that Alistair would distract the Darkspawn before it could finish Zevran off.

\----

He was hurting again, chest a mass of fire, and something struck his face. He tried to groan, but heard only a bubbling, sucking noise, and it occurred to him suddenly that that the source of the heavy scent of blood in the air must be him. Of course. Each breath was a struggle, accompanied by more bubbling, and when he tried to open his eyes, they refused to cooperate, lids weighted with exhaustion. He managed a tiny slit, no more, and winced at the stab of light. Dark figures hovered over him, too blurry to make out.

"Is Wynne here yet?!" Alistair. Then he was all right, at least, and if the other Warden were well, then surely he had saved Zevran. Gale let his eyes drift shut against the light, unspeakably tired, and a tiny smile drifted onto his lips. All would be well, then, whatever happened to him.

Another blow to his face, and he wondered who was _hitting_ him. Surely they could see he was quite done with fighting. Something was said in an urgent voice and he missed it, but then a voice he would recognize in the depths of the Black City caught his ears. " _Amora_! _Mia aria_ , you should not be _smiling_. Stay with us, my Warden, Wynne is preparing to heal you. If you pass out again and leave us, I will not forgive you." Zevran's voice, and Gale struggled towards the light had seen, but the darkness was so thick again, so heavy and overwhelming. He fought it, but it pulled him in, and once again, he knew nothing.

\--

Waking was a deep surprise. The agony is his chest was discomfort now, though his breath was still short, and he rolled over, coughed. His ribs twinged as he felt liquid coming up, expelled from his lungs, and he opened his eyes to a tanned hand holding a bowl in front of his face, the light wood splattered with dark blood, and his bedroll past it. The mage pushed himself up slightly on his hands, hacking more blood into the bowl with a pained groan.

"Just think of how the inside of your lungs must look." The suggestion was framed in carefully neutral tones that told Gale that Zevran was angry with him.

Once his lungs were clear enough for easy breath, his arms gave out bonelessly, and the bowl was snatched from in front of his face before he could land in it. "I'd really rather not, if it's all the same to you," the Warden whispered, and coughed again from the pain of his abused throat.

"Perhaps I would rather you did." The bowl clacked on the floor of the tent as it was set aside, and strong hands rolled Gale over onto his back, fingers traced lines across his chest through the tatters of his robe. "Do you know how close you came to death, Warden?" Zevran's face was serious, eyes filled with some strange hurt. "If you are so eager to die, I should simply finish you off and throw myself on the mercies of the Crows, such as they are."

Gale attempted to sit up, was rebuffed by hands on his shoulders pushing him back, and he quickly gave up, too weak to fight the assassin's strength. "I've no intention of dying," he said, holding Zevran's eye steadily. "Nor of letting you do so, if I can help it." The Antivan flinched, looked away.

"No . . . I suppose you would not, infuriating man that you are." The cold evenness was gone, replaced by a tone of almost regret. One hand slid up Gale's neck, touched his earlobe and the earring that sparkled there. "Very well, I will forgive you, since you did not die - and Wynne has yet to give you her mind, so I may yet be burying you today. It would be cruel of me to send you to your grave without at least granting you my pardon."

Gale tilted his head into the caress, laughed faintly. "I've been surviving lectures from grumpy elder mages for years, Zev. She won't kill me - though I may wish she had."

Zevran leaned down over Gale, brushed their lips together, licked up the blood that flecked the mage's mouth. Gale's eyes closed again, and allowed Zevran's tongue to dip between his lips, explore his copper-tainted mouth. After a minute, the assassin pulled back. "Maybe I should remind you why you shouldn't give in to such urges," Zevran said, voice suddenly hot, almost purring. His hand slipped into Gale's hair, fisting in it roughly.

Surprised at the spark of interest from his body, despite his weakened state, Gale's eyes opened and he shook his head as much as the tight grip in his hair would allow. "Probably not a good idea," he said with reluctance, but the assassin didn't move, mouth tracing the high curve of Gale's cheekbones, as if memorizing his face with lips and tongue.

" _Amora_ , you are lucky to be alive," Zevran murmured, hot breath ghosting over the Warden's skin. " _I_ am lucky that you are alive. I intend to celebrate properly." His lips found Gale's ear, and the mage couldn't help but be amused at his lover taking advantage of the places he knew Gale was most responsive - and likewise couldn't help but to tilt his head, giving seeking lips better access to his ear and the curve of his neck.

"Wynne may kill _you_ if she catches you taking advantage of me in this state," the healer said with quiet amusement, and stretched out his senses towards his own body, examining himself as he would a patient. Low on blood, but otherwise mostly mended thanks to Wynne's magics; he would need plenty of fluids and meat to recover. But his bones were knitted, and Zevran was unlikely to do him any harm by continuing, and so he lifted a hand and draped it across Zevran's waist, fingers tracing small circles on the leather as he allowed himself to relax into familiar, pleasant sensations.

Tired from loss of blood or not, though, Gale was beginning to feel it too - the relief at being _alive_ that drove Zevran's lust - and he plucked lightly at one of the belts securing Zevran's armor. "-off," he managed softly, and Zevran drew back, eyes heavy with desire, and confusion in his face, and Gale rushed to clarify. "Let me touch you, Zev." Another tug at the belt. Zevran's expression cleared.

"I thought this was not a good idea, my Warden?" Zevran's tone was ever so faintly mocking, and Gale faked a scowl up at him.

"You may not have noticed this, but I can have poor ideas once in a while." The mage watched appreciatively as Zevran leaned back into his knees and began to strip off his armor with practiced ease, skilled fingers making short work of the hardened brigandine and stiff skirt of reinforced leathern slats. His shirt and smallclothes followed quickly, and then he pressed himself down again, turning his attention to Gale's tattered robes. A few quick rips and they were opened, exposing pale, blood-smeared flesh.

Zevran gazed down at the sight, licked his lips. The assassin's nimble fingers traced the lightly defined muscle of Gale's chest, brushed through still-wet blood and smeared it down across one taut bud. Gale's eyes widened as his lover's head bent and delicately lapped at that point, cleaning Gale's flesh with his tongue, and he felt slightly dizzy as the blood still in his body _realigned_ itself. It was a strange, heady sensation, one that left him short on breath but this time in a good way, and he gave a soft moan. Zevran looked up and caught his eyes with a smirk. "Weren't you going to touch me, my Warden?"

They explored each other with hands and mouths, Gale subdued by necessity, but now quite aroused, leaving streaks of drying red across Zevran's tanned flesh as he touched and felt; as for Zevran, he seemed inclined to to remove all traces of Gale's near brush with death using only his hands and tongue.

Gale chuckled at the thought, nipped lightly at Zevran's hip and heard the approving purr the assassin made against his stomach. The healer turned his head, blew softly across the head of Zevran's member, engorged and heavy, bobbing scant inches from Gale's face. In the time since they had become lovers, Gale had become most familiar with this piece of Zevran, and he greeted it with pleasure. He steadied it, wrapping one hand around the shaft, and kissed lightly around the head. He felt Zevran's reaction as much as heard it, the soft groan vibrating against his belly, hot breath teasing his skin. The taste of the Antivan was muddled with the lingering taste of blood in Gale's mouth, and the Warden took a breath, leaned in and wrapped his lips around Zevran's stiff flesh, seeking more of that salty musk to drown out the coppery tang.

This, he had found, was something he truly enjoyed. The weight of Zevran's cock on his tongue, the sounds he could wring out of the assassin with each slide against soft skin - it was intoxicating. He swallowed and slid further down, drew up to lap at the tip, and took him down again, coaxing Zevran with lips and the hand still steadying him, slowly stroking. He was rewarded with another drop of fluid, spreading across his tongue and cleansing it, and his lips wrapped around Zevran's tip and _sucked_.

As his cheeks hollowed, he felt warm breath on his own hardness, then sudden heat and slick pressure as Zevran swallowed him down in one expert slide, holding the mage's hips still with his strong hands. For a moment, stars burst behind Gale's eyes and it was all he could do to simply moan around the head of Zevran's cock, wits temporarily scattered by the intensity of the pleasure. As he gathered himself back together, he felt vibrations around his member and realized that Zevran was _laughing_ at him. Galvanized, he pulled back, licked down the side of Zevran's cock. His free hand nudged the assassin's thighs, encouraging them to open, and he ducked his head between them, taking first one half of the soft, delicate sac there into his mouth, then the other, stroking with his tongue while his other hand continued to work at Zevran's flesh. The vibrations that followed were of another another sort entirely, and Zevran's hips twitched into his hand.

Too tired for stamina, Gale knew he would lose their impromptu competition, so he moved back to Zevran's hardness, swallowed him down again, taking the assassin as far as he could. He was not so skilled at this yet, but his hand worked what he could not cover with his mouth, and was rewarded by hearing Zevran's groan of need as the assassin came up for air. The mage answered it with his own as Zevran teased his needy flesh, light touches and soft breath, before once again taking him to the root and sucking hard, unbelievable heat and soft fluttering of tongue and throat. Gale's hips bucked against Zevran's tight hold, and somehow the pressure only _increased_ , inexorably drawing Gale's pleasure from him, bringing him to the brink. Dizzy, focused only on the cock in his mouth and the mouth on his cock, he hit the edge and fell, crying out around Zevran's flesh when Zevran slid one finger back and pressed hard against the soft skin between sac and centre, sending sparks through Gale's veins. The mage's hips heaved again, coming hard into Zevran's waiting mouth.

To Zevran's credit, he gave Gale a minute to gather his senses before shifting his hips, rocking slightly into Gale's mouth to remind him of the task at hand. Bonelessly exhausted now, the Warden swallowed and inched down further. The slide of hard flesh across the back of his tongue into his throat was almost too much, but languid contentment helped him relax and for the first time, he took Zevran to the root, nose buried in blond curls and the head of Zevran's cock deep in his throat. When Gale was certain he wouldn't gag, he pulled back, breathed, sank down again, and pushed at Zevran's hips, wordlessly encouraging him to move, to fuck the mage's mouth, and the assassin complied with slow, short thrusts and a low sound of pleasure. This was easy, now, to lay there and let his lover use his mouth, and he sucked and licked as best he could while Zevran pumped between his lips.

He felt the tension building in Zevran's thighs; Zevran hissed a warning and the Warden pulled his head back, keeping his lips wrapped around Zevran's cock, and eagerly drank him down as the assassin stiffened, gasped something in lyrical Antivan. The last lingering taste of blood washed away, leaving Gale tasting nothing but the thick, salty flavour of his lover, and he continued to suck gently at the head through the last of Zevran's orgasm. Finally, as the Antivan's cock began to soften, Gale pulled away and rested his head on Zevran's thigh.

"No more heroics, _amora_ ," Zevran lazily kissed the flat plane of Gale's hip. "I will not die and leave you - this I swear. I would have you do me the courtesy of the same."

Gale sighed softly, and tugged at Zevran's head until the assassin turned himself about. "You know either of us could die before this is over, Zev," he said regretfully. "I won't make promises I can't be sure that I can uphold." He watched Zevran's face, saw the hurt, carefully hidden under a mask of irritation and felt a stab of guilt. "Even though it would make us both feel better . . . I don't want to be an oathbreaker as well, should the worst happen."

Zevran glared. "I know that I have said this before, but you are _infuriating_! Fine, then. Swear to me that you will not repeat what you did today, at least. I am here to protect _you_ , my Warden. You may protect me with your magics, but your body is mine to preserve. In return, I will endeavour not to put myself in a position where you feel the urge to play the savior. Do we have a deal?"

Gale huffed out an amused breath, aware that Zevran's possessiveness substituted for words he had a great deal of difficulty saying. "Deal, then. I swear." He blinked once, again, realized his eyelids were trying to shut of their own accord, and turned his head into Zevran's shoulder. He needed food, and to bathe - but a short rest wouldn't hurt first. A long second of unseen hesitation later, he felt Zevran's arms wrap around his shoulders, and he drifted to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a line from Bif Naked's "Lucky":  
> "It was a Monday when my lover told me  
> Never pay the reaper with love only  
> What could I say to you except I love you  
> And I'd give my life for yours?"


End file.
